


Summer Princess

by Starchains



Series: Fandom Bingo 2016 [4]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Everyone is awful, F/M, Forced Marriage, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Natsuki is Fifteen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Kissing, Sharing a Bed, Vomiting, Vulnerability, non-consensual nudity, underage marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7497870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starchains/pseuds/Starchains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sawada Natsuki can't help her little brother. Kept ignorant of the new world he's a part of, she can't even help herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sawada Natsuki loves her little brother. Tsuna is shy and clumsy and prefers reading comics to doing anything productive, but she loves him. She just can’t help him. She’s tried, so very hard, to make things easier for him, but she can’t. One of the drawbacks of being a girl is that she can’t make the bullies back off in the same way that an older brother could, not without Tsuna attracting more teasing for hiding behind his sister. She tries to help him with his schoolwork, get him to understand the concepts that come so easy for her. But he resents her for finding so simple what is so very hard for him. It makes him angry and depressed and withdrawn, and eventually she stops trying. 

She goes to Midori Middle School, instead of Namimori Middle. It’s tougher, more advanced, and she loves it. She loves the challenge and the way the teachers push her, and the friends she makes who understand instead of mocking her for her drive. But it doesn’t make things better at home. Her mother praises her while lamenting the failings of ‘Dame-Tsuna’, and nothing Natsuki does can stop her, or anyone, from using the awful nickname that Tsuna seems to have accepted as part of his identity. The gap between them grows wider, and Natsuki has no idea how to bridge it.

When the baby comes and announces that he’s a home tutor, Natsuki is suspicious. The child clearly has adult intelligence, so she won’t complain about that. The entire town is policed by a boy her age and a gang of delinquents, a child-like tutor is not the strangest thing she’s seen. There are explosions every morning, and she hears rumours of Tsuna doing crazy things, but he seems happier. He’s made friends with an Italian transfer student and the baseball star from his school, as well as the girl he has a crush on and her older brother. There’s a brightness in his eyes, and Natsuki is willing to forgive a lot of strangeness for that. 

But she knows they’re keeping secrets from her. Just like she knows her father has nothing to do with oil drilling or construction or traffic control, not with the money he sends and way his story changes every time she asks, not that she can ask often. She doesn’t understand why the Italian boy carries firecrackers with him, why he won’t call Tsuna by name, why the tutor hits and kicks and otherwise abuses Tsuna without consequence. She tries to intervene, but only once. She’s learned too well that interfering only makes things worse for her brother, and despite his new friends he doesn’t stop coming home bruised and battered.

And then things get even crazier. After a few months the Italian boy’s older sister, Bianchi, has moved into her room and two Italian children, Lambo and Fuuta, are sharing the spare room with a Chinese girl, I-Pin. With Tsuna’s friends over more often than not, the lack of privacy is driving Natsuki crazy. Her grades start slipping as she gets less and less sleep, her homework gets destroyed if she leaves it unattended for a second, and there is no quiet place where she can study. 

She starts spending most of her time at the library, moving to a coffee shop when it closes, and coming home only to sleep. She spends most of her money eating out, but since before she was spending all of her money on new clothes after they got ruined in the melee that meals had become, she doesn’t see it as a sacrifice. Her mother barely notices, so caught up in Tsuna’s new attitude. Tsuna doesn’t notice either, and nor do any of their houseguests. It isn’t good, not even close, but it’s workable. It’s liveable.

She reaches her breaking point when she comes home one day to find Bianchi painting her room a deep pink. Her scream of outrage brings Tsuna, his tutor and her mother running. None of them understand why she’s upset. They all act like she’s overreacting, that having her space completely redesigned by a virtual stranger should be okay with her. Her mother acts disappointed, and Bianchi is condescending. Tsuna just looks baffled.

That evening she packs her bags. She doesn’t have much – most of her books have been scribbled on by the children, her wardrobe is down to three shirts, two pairs of jeans and a skirt, her jewellery was broken by the children playing dress-up – so it doesn’t take long. Her friend Manami is more than willing to let her crash on the spare futon for a few nights while she figures things out.

Her mother coos about her being ‘so independent’ as she sings the paperwork for her new apartment. She would feel guilty about the added expense for her mother, but staying at home just isn’t feasible any more. Two days into living in her new space and she knows she made the right choice. She hadn’t realised how much stress she was under until it all went away. Her teachers comment on how much better her work is, how much fresher and more awake she looks. She reconnects with her friends, apologises for her stress and the distance she had been unconsciously creating. Things are going well, and although she misses Tsuna and Her mother, it’s only in a distant, easily-ignorable way. They haven’t been close for a long time now.

Her mother calls in October and tells her that her father has come home to visit. She replies non-committally and makes a mental note to stay away from the house. She doesn’t think she could stand to see the man without shouting at him. Tsuna needed a father, her mother needed her husband, and if he wasn’t prepared to be there for them then he shouldn’t have had a family at all. She knows that Her mother’s happy singing and extravagant cooking will only make her angrier and more upset if she comes home.

The plan to avoid her father lasts until the end of the school day, when she gets back to her apartment to find that it’s been stripped. Bedding, clothes, her posters and decorations, everything. There’s nothing left but a note in handwriting she recognises from the infrequent postcards, instructing her to come home and illustrated with a cheerful smiley face. Natsuki goes to the shop she buys all her clothes from, picks up a couple of cheap shirts, some underwear and a pair of jeans, and then goes to Manami’s. The girl is a great friend, and aware of a little of the drama at home. She’s more than willing to let Natsuki stay over, and her parents are wonderfully accepting. They’re happy to host her for as long as her father is in town.

But the next day, one of the many Italians who’ve been in and out of the house is waiting for her at the school gates, surrounded by men in black suits and ignoring the excited whispers from smitten schoolgirls. Before Natsuki can turn around to go hide in the library until they go away, one of the black-suited men takes her firmly by the shoulder and steers her towards the tattooed blond.

He smiles at her, bright and cheerful, ordering her home and calling her Natsu-chan like they’re friends. There’s no way for her to get away without causing a scene, and before she can decide whether or not it’s worth risking, she’s bundled into a black car and the opportunity has passed.

Seeing her father is every bit as excruciating as she had expected. He’s drunk, laying around in his boxers being waited on by her mother. He clings to her like a monkey as she tries to excuse herself to go to Manami, wailing about how hurt he is, how cold his cute little girl is, as though she’s still the tiny girl with hair as big as she was and a wardrobe full of pink frilly dresses. He doesn’t seem to care that her blonde hair is pulled back into tight braids now, and she wears boots instead of ballet slippers. He chatters about her cooking for him like her mother, and asks if she’s met any cute boys. He’s thrilled that she hasn’t, indulgent when she says she doesn’t want to, and laughs when she tells him that she wants to be an engineer. It’s awful and it takes all she has not to scream at him, not to cry and shout and fight her way out of this toxic embrace, this plastic house full of plastic smiles.

She isn’t even allowed to leave the house for school. Her mother twitters about how nice it is to spend time together as a tall Italian shadows her every step, herding her away if she gets too close to the doors. Tsuna is out, preparing for something, but no one is telling her anything and she’s regretting not pushing for an answer back when this first began.

And then everyone’s talking about rings, the white-haired boxer Tsuna hangs around with is in the hospital again, Tsuna hugs her completely out of the blue, and everything is frantic. Lambo, the curly-haired Italian menace, is in the hospital, and Natsuki is left at home with only her guard as her mother spends all of her time there with him. Everyone is being wound tighter and tighter. Natsuki can feel it even though she doesn’t know the cause.

And then her father is back at home again, the Italian boy who trails behind him calling him master still acting as his shadow. He says he’s going to leave, and Natsuki is pleased. She wants to get her life back, her schoolwork, her apartment. Whatever insanity surrounds her family, she wants out, even if she has to cut all ties to make it happen. She even manages to smile as she wishes him farewell.

She is surprised to wake up in an aeroplane, strapped to a seat, still wearing her nightclothes. Her father grins at her as though he hasn’t done something unforgivable, as though she isn’t panicking in her seat, trying and failing to find a way to undo the straps that hold her down. He talks about his boss’s son, about her joining the family and supporting Tsuna, still with that awful grin. She only catches half the words, and they don’t make sense. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Her father leaves her once they land in Italy, handing her off to more interchangeable men in black suits. They don’t speak Japanese, and she doesn’t speak Italian, so they have no way to communicate. They pull her around like she’s a doll, until she’s sat with a cup of tea in front of her, in a room with six stone-faced men.

They talk in heavily accented Japanese about how their boss is injured, and the Varia can’t be allowed to leave the family. She has no idea what they mean, so she just nods. The youngest one explains that the boss’s son is angry at his father. She can understand the feeling, and feels like she’s on slightly firmer ground. They tell her they want her to … something… with the boss’s son. She doesn’t understand, and her head is still fuzzy, so she just keeps nodding. They smile at her, and a woman in a plain black dress leads her out of the room and into a bedroom. She’s asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow.

The next day she feels slightly more together after a hot shower and a chance to brush her teeth. A whole host of women come into the bedroom, wielding swathes of white fabric. A girl about her age gives her a glass of juice and some toast, and she’s hungry enough to wolf it down without a thought to manners.

Her head feels just as floaty as the day before as the women dress her like a mannequin, wrapping her in a corset and lacing her up tight, pulling a huge, frothy white dress from protective plastic and manoeuvring her into it. She knows she should object to them stripping her naked, she knows that she doesn’t like people touching her hair, she knows that them painting her face like she’s about to go on stage is strange. But she can’t work up the energy to complain, or remember why she wants to at all. 

Once her hair has been wrestled into elaborate braids entwined with ribbons and flowers, and her feet have been slipped into delicate white flats, she’s steered out of the mansion – how had she not seen how fancy the house was yesterday? – and into another black car. She’s not sure how long the drive is, she thinks she falls asleep. But soon she’s stood outside a church, and guided inside to a small room where her father is waiting.

His presence is almost enough to break the fog. But then he takes her by the arm and he’s leading her through a set of doors, and it takes all of her concentration not to trip over the hem of her dress and keep hold of the bouquet that’s been shoved into her arms. She’s forced to cling to her father as he tows her down the centre of the rows of chairs, all filled with fancily dressed people. Natsuki is scared now, she wants to go home. And then her father is passing her to a scowling man in a suit, with guns on his hips. He takes her hand, and wraps an arm around her waist when she slumps against him. She’s so tired, she just wants to sleep. If she can just go to sleep, this will all have been a nightmare when she wakes up again.

They’re talking in Italian and she doesn’t understand, so she stare at the man holding her up. His eyebrows are funny, split in half at the ends. His skin is patchy, like parts of it have been tanned. And he looks so angry. There’s a blond man standing next to him, with hair even longer than hers. She’s never seen hair that long, and it distracts her. The man holding her forces a ring onto her finger, and then places another in her hand. It glitters, and she moves it so it sparkles in the light. He growls and grips her hand too tightly, forcing the ring onto his own finger. Then he’s kissing her, hot and dry and she pulls back. She doesn’t want that. She tries to move away but he won’t let her go and she wants out. She wants to leave.

The scowling man drags her back towards that doors and into the waiting black car, shoving her down onto a seat. They drive away, and she closes her eyes and lets the blackness take her.


	2. Chapter 2

She comes to in the car, watching the man with the eyebrows. He catches her looking and starts talking, but she can't follow the words and the car is moving and the world is shifting and nothing is steady anymore. His arms are around her, grounding her. She closes her eyes again breathes in his scent, feels his warmth. She's not asleep but she's drifting, not quite awake anymore and that's better.

Then she's in a bedroom, standing somehow on her own two feet despite the ground moving underneath her, and Eyebrow-Man is tugging at the laces of the froth she's wearing, pulling it so tight she can't breathe and then letting it go whispering to the ground. The release of pressure on her chest is so great that she collapses against him, able to fill her lungs for the first time in forever. He strokes her hair gently and she snuggles into his chest, barely noticing as he strips her one-handed. Breathing in his warmth takes all her concentration.

She wakes up in a strange bed, swaddled in layers and layers of blankets. She tries to struggle free, her stomach trying to escape through her throat. She retches and retches, and warm hands are pulling her out of bed, carrying her like an infant. The hands put her on her knees just in time. There's nothing in her stomach to throw up except its own lining and it hurts, it burns her throat and the roof of her mouth and it tastes like rawness. Everything is raw, like an open nerve. She retches and heaves and can't remember how she got here. She doesn't want to remember.

The warm hand holding her hair back leaves and she whimpers like a kicked puppy. The hand was warm and she's so very cold, shivering in the cold air, knelt on icy tiles. The hand comes back, and with it a glass of water. She rinses her mouth, barely resisting the urge to swallow from the very first sip. But as soon as her mouth is clean she's gulping the water down, and then sobbing as it comes straight back up. She doesn't know what her body is doing. She has no control over it and she’s so scared.

Another glass of water and she drinks it slowly, still crying. She doesn't cry, not ever, but she's bawling like a child and the man is still stroking her hair, the bare skin of her back. His hand is warm, but not warm enough against the cold tiles she's sat on. She feels the chill right down to her bones, freezing her in place. Her head is pounding and she can’t stop shivering, can’t stop sobbing.

It takes forever for her tears to run dry. Her knees are numb by the time she sits up, placing the glass carefully on the floor. The man lifts her like a child, carrying her to the bed and wrapping her in a blanket. There, wrapped up snugly and cradled in his arms, greedily basking in his warmth, she falls asleep again.

When she next wakes, her head is in vicious, throbbing pain. The blanket isn't a comfort, it's a cage and she fights her way free of it, and of the arms keeping her trapped. Her chest is heaving, she can't get enough air, and the man who was holding her is just lying there, looking at her. His black hair falls across his dark skin, sleep-mussed and spiky. His chest is bare, and the way the blankets lie show the edge of his leg is too, and probably everything else. So is she. She scrambles for a blanket, but they're all tangled and she can't pull one free. A warm, heavy weight falls across her shoulders. She pulls her arms into the sleeves, wraps the robe tight around herself and ties the belt. Then she looks at the man who moved so quickly.

He's wearing a robe too and she's grateful that he’s covered up. She knows she shouldn't be, has no idea what he did to her last night, but right now he's being thoughtful like no one else has been for the longest time. She thinks back to the day before, tries to piece together what happened since she left the church. She remembers warmth, and safety. Flashes, no more, but it's enough to make her think that maybe he can be trusted.

He sits on the bed, leaning back against the pillows and stretching out like a giant cat.

"Do you want to sit down, Natsuki-chan?" he asks. His voice is deep, rasping, but clearly understood despite his accent. Her gratitude is overwhelming, but she speaks before she can stop herself.

"I didn’t give you permission to call me chan," she says, feeling childish as soon as the words leave her mouth.

"Is that not the right word? I'm sorry." The apology makes her feel worse, and she tells him its fine before she has time to think things through. At least he’s speaking a language she can understand.

"Your father said that you were nervous yesterday, and he must have given you too much medication by accident. That's why you were throwing up last night." She thinks he may be concerned, but it's so hard to tell.

"Throwing up?" She doesn't remember that. She remembers tea, and dresses, and eyebrows and sparkles and warm. Nothing coherent.

"Do you not remember?" He frowns and sits up slightly. The robe is gaping open at his chest and she can’t look away. She can’t forget that she spent the night cuddled into that chest like a lover. The thought is nauseating.

"Remember what? Remember who? Who are you?" She's panicking now and she can't get her head straight. She slept naked next to this man, this man who knew that she was drugged, who seems to know what’s going on. She can feel her heart beating too fast, muscles tense with the urge to run. Her head is pounding in time to her heartbeat and the whole world feels unsteady.

"I'm Xanxus. I'm your husband." Now the man is scowling and she takes a couple of quick steps back, looking around for a door, a weapon, anything.

There are three doors in the room, all of them shut. A huge wooden desk against a wall, empty of everything. A bookshelf full of titles she can’t read. Nothing useful. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Cream walls and dark wood and white sheets smeared with drops of rusty brown. Her mind skips away, and her eyes meet the man’s. Xanxus’ eyes are bright red, pinning her in place. How did she not notice that before? Bright red and fixed on her and she feels like a rabbit under the gaze of a fox. Soft and defenceless and so very, very breakable.

He takes a deep breath, leaning back slowly. He tugs his robe closed and lays his hands on the blanket to either side of him, fingers splayed open. "I'm sorry, Natsuki-chan. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." Isn’t it? He can't help being intimidating, and he's been nothing but kind. He didn’t mean to scare her. "I just want to know what's going on. Where am I? Why am I here?" Tears well in her eyes but she doesn't dare wipe them away, draw attention to them.

He notices anyway and stands up slowly, pulling a handkerchief from a pocket as he walks towards her. When he reaches her side he holds it out to her. She takes it and wipes her eyes, hiding her face and giving herself a minute to compose herself. He waits patiently, and when she tries to give the handkerchief back he takes her hand instead, leading her to the bed and guiding her to sit down next to him. This close to him she can feel his warmth. He even smells warm, like oil and metal on a summer day. It’s a familiar smell and a comforting one. She breaths in deeply, still holding his hand. His thumb brushes gently over her knuckles.

"My name is Xanxus of the Vongola. My father is Don Vongola, the head of the family, so he and Iemitsu decided that a match between us would be a good idea. We were betrothed just after you were born, and the arrangement was that we would be married once you were eighteen. Your birthday this past summer -"

"My fifteenth birthday! I'm only fifteen! What's the Vongola, what does that have to do with me? How do our fathers even know each other? What is going on?" Natsuki bursts out, interrupting Xanxus - her husband?

"Fifteen? Iemitsu didn't say that." Xanxus looks horrified. "You’re still a child. Do you not know anything at all about your heritage?"

"I know a baby turned up and started tutoring Tsuna, and since then the world's gone crazy," she says flatly. Her heritage? That sounds a lot nicer than having her life turned upside down because of a decision made before she could even walk.

"The baby is Reborn, a Hitman. Your brother is training to be the next leader of the Vongola. We're a Mafia Family, and succession is strictly through bloodlines." Xanxus explains it as though it’s obvious. To him, it probably is. He was having the same problem she did when she tried to explain things to Tsuna. When everything is obvious to you and nothing makes any sense to them, where on earth do you start? She’s suddenly so much more sympathetic to her brother. She misses him, has been missing him for months. With effort, she forces her mind back on track. Her brother isn’t the issue. Iemitsu is.

"Bloodlines? So my father - or mother?" Natsuki doesn't know whether she’s more upset at the revelation of her father’s deceit, or the fact that it really isn't a surprise at all.

"As far as I know, your mother is a civilian. Iemitsu is the head of the CEDEF, a branch of the Vongola. They're the outside advisors, which is why your father can't inherit."

“And you can't inherit, even though your father is the boss?" That was the only explanation for why Tsuna was involved at all.

Xanxus just nodded sharply.

"But if they had known that from the start, Tsuna would have been trained since he was a baby." Natsuki started to put the pieces together. "So they agreed when I was little that I would marry you, because they thought you would be Boss and I have Iemitsu's blood. Which is special?"

"Descended from Primo, the first boss of the Vongola," Xanxus confirmed. His accent made the tone of his voice hard to decipher. Was he angry? Hurt? Bored?

"So we would marry and have perfect purebred babies. But something happened and that means you can't be Boss. And that same something means I have to marry you three years ahead of schedule."

"Right. Your brother is the only heir left. Vongola needs more." His hand clenched down tightly on hers. The pain helped her focus. So she was only breeding stock. Was that all she had ever meant to her father?

"I'm not an heir? Is it because I'm foreign? Or female?" Iemitsu certainly acted as though her gender was all she was.

"Both. Vongola is xenophobic and sexist. They could overcome one-"

"But not both." She slumps against his side as exhaustion hit her again. She’s still tired, and hungry, and headachy, and she just wants this to have been a dream. Another awful thought hits her.

"That's why Tsuna and I were born so close together. Iemitsu never wanted me. He wanted a boy." The tears are back, and the handkerchief isn't enough to quell them.

"Being unwanted sucks. Being lied to is worse. But it gets better, Natsuki-chan. You're part of the Family now." He wraps an arm around her, solid and steady.

“I want to talk to Tsuna.” He was stuck in the middle of this just like she was. And he actually knows what was going on. She misses her baby brother furiously.

“My mobile is on the desk,” Xanxus tells her, gesturing. “I’ll give you some privacy.” With that, Xanxus kisses her chastely on the lips and leaves Natsuki sitting on the bed, cold and alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Square 1:4 - Hurt / No Comfort


End file.
